


AO3 tag prompt fills 2017

by Khalehla



Series: Requests [5]
Category: Football RPF
Genre: AO3 Tags - Freeform, Additional Warnings In Author's Note, Airports, Alternate Universe - College/University, Alternate Universe - Spies & Secret Agents, Eating Challenge, Fake/Pretend Relationship, Götzeus mentions, M/M, Meet-Cute, Pining, Platonic bed sharing, Prompt Fic, Sharing a Bed, Some chapters are AU, agony aunt, food art, tumblr repost
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-07-02
Updated: 2017-08-11
Packaged: 2018-11-22 06:09:31
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 11
Words: 12,948
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11374182
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Khalehla/pseuds/Khalehla
Summary: A collection of stories based on AO3 tags1. Hömmels2. Neukreutz, implied Götzeus3. Steno4. Neuller5. Hömmels6. Müller/Klose7. Ju&Jo8. Meyretzka9. Trappler10. implied Götzeus, Hömmels, Steno11. Calum Chambers/Rob Holding





	1. Alone time (Hömmels)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Benedikt + Mats, for the tags **I fell off a swan yesterday , it was a plastic swan**

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Requested by [Yyydelilah](http://archiveofourown.org/users/Yyydelilah)

“We’re going to regret this,” Benedikt predicts.

Mats shoulder bumps him. “When did you become so negative?”

“I’m not being negative, I’m just stating the facts.”

“You need to live a little.”

Benedikt rolls his eyes. “I  _am_  living - but I’m not going to be doing much of that if I fall off that thing and drown.”

“Don’t worry, I’ll rescue you,” Mats grins.

Benedikt sighs, then drops his towel and bag onto the grass, watching as Mats heads towards the deserted pool and starts pulling one of the giant floaties towards him so that he can climb into it. Benedikt can’t help but giggle. Not just because Mats is struggling to get into his floatie, but because Mats is struggling to get into his giant  _swan_  floatie. That happens to be bright  _pink_. He’d never in his life imagine it, but Mats wrestling with a giant, bright pink, plastic swan floatie is one of the more adorable things he has ever seen.

“Are you alright there?” Benedikt calls out when Mats falls out of the floatie the third time.

“I’m good, I’m good!” Mats calls back.

Mats takes a deep breath, brushes his wet hair away from his face, then wraps his arms around the neck of the swan. He then throws one leg onto the body of the floatie and just freezes. Benedikt giggles some more; Mats looks like he’s awkwardly side-humping the pink swan and it’s fucking hilarious.

Mats takes another breath, then kinda jumps so that he lands tummy down onto the swan with both legs straddling the sides of the floatie. It’s inelegant and ungraceful but Mats looks so proud of himself that Benedikt laughs and laughs.

Mats grins at him. “Are you going to join me or what?”

“Nah I’m good; I’m just gonna sit here and read.”

“Boring!”

Benedikt just shrugs, then sits and takes out his paperback. After a couple of pages, Mats calls his name. Benedikt looks up to see that Mats has somehow - without falling out of the floatie again - managed to turn so that he is on his back, one arm looped around the swan’s neck and his head hanging almost upside down from the side of the floatie.

“Bene, paint me like one of your French girls,”

“You dork!” Benedikt laughs, “I said  _read_ , not paint.”

Mats just grins even more broadly. “Come on, babe, bring your book if you want. This is awesome.”

Benedikt thinks for a moment, then slowly stands. Mats had gone to a lot of trouble to set up their free time and he really was grateful that they were alone for once rather than  ~~babysitting their tribe of adopted children~~  spending time with all their other teammates. So he takes his book and wades into the pool, slowly making his way to the side and grabbing another of the giant swans. He hands his book to Mats and tries - it’s a lot harder than it looks! - to jump on without falling off too many times.

“Come closer,” Mats says when Benedikt is finally lying on his back safe in the middle of the floatie.

Benedikt pauses a minute just to enjoy how beautiful the day is and how quiet it is without the rest of the team there; he is suddenly overwhelmed with gratitude and love for the other man for making this happen. Benedikt tips his head to the side. 

“Mats,” he calls out in a breathy voice, “paint me like one of your French girls.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The reference to their tribe of adopted children can be read in [Dads](http://archiveofourown.org/works/9269654/chapters/21119144).


	2. Food of love (Neukreutz)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Kevin + Manuel, for the tags **Is a supportive Boyfriend , Who gives great speeches, And will always be the big spoon.**

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Requested by [Natteravn](http://archiveofourown.org/users/Natteravn).

Kevin doesn’t know whether he wants to punch Manuel or kiss him.  Probably both, because he kinda does look ridiculous standing on the picnic bench and waving his arms around.

“And never, ever, let anyone tell you can’t or shouldn’t do it! Don’t let the low expectations of other people limit your successes!” Manuel is saying. “You can do it, Kevin - I believe in you!”

Kevin stares at the goalkeeper like he’s grown another head. “You’re taking this a little bit too seriously.”

“If you mean taking my boyfriend duties seriously, then yes I am,” Manuel nods, jumping down from the bench. “You can do this. No matter what Marco says, there’s no way his chipmunk boyfriend can out-eat you.”

Kevin’s eyes widen and he hits Manuel on the shoulder. “Manu, oh my god. That chipmunk is our friend and he has a name; don’t be rude.”

“I still don’t think there’s any way in hell Mario can eat twelve cheeseburgers faster than you,” Manuel shrugs. “We gotta prove them wrong.”

“We?” Kevin asks with a lift of his eyebrows. “I thought it was just me versus Mario.”

“You know what I mean; we’re in this together, remember? A team. You and me against the world, babe - or in this case, against Marco and Mario.”

Kevin can’t help it, he melts just a little. Manuel could be so sweet sometimes. And his speeches weren’t bad either; maybe being captain also gave him better public speaking skills.

“I’ll try my best,” he promises.

Kevin wins, but only barely. He manages to swallow down the last cheeseburger as Mario reaches for his number twelve, and he raises both fists in the air as the rest of their friends let out a cheer.

“YEAH!” Manuel screams, wrapping his arms around Kevin’s waist and spinning.

“Manu stop!” Kevin gasps. “If I throw up, we’re gonna lose; put me down!”

“Sorry, sorry,” Manuel mumbles, gently letting go but leaning in for a congratulatory kiss. “I knew you could do it.”

“It’s not over yet,” Mats reminds them. “Remember, no throwing up or going to the toilet for at least two hours.”

“No problem!” Manuel says, “Kevin’s got this.”

Except with half an hour to go, Kevin is starting to feel his stomach reject all those cheeseburgers. “Manu,” he whispers desperately, “I think I’m going to throw up.”

Manuel gives him a concerned look, then moves so that he is sitting behind Kevin and pulls Kevin flush up against his back. “I’m here, just another thirty minutes. You can hold it, right?”

“I don’t know,” Kevin admits softly, “I really feel like throwing up right now.”

Manuel hums. “It’s okay. I don’t want you to get sick over this. If you need to throw up, just let me know and we’ll let the little chipmunk win.”

“Manu,” Kevin groans again. “What did I tell you about calling Mario a chipmunk?”

Manuel just chuckles.

Kevin doesn’t know how, but he manages to keep the cheeseburgers down, and goes home with the somewhat dubious reward of three one-kilo chocolate bars.

“I’m so proud of you,” Manuel murmurs into Kevin’s hair when they finally get to bed that night.

“You’re such a dick,” Kevin murmurs back. “Next time, you get to do the food challenge.”

“Next time, just ignore Mario and say no,” Manuel chuckles.

“Says the guy who cheered the loudest when I won.”

“Just being a supportive boyfriend, you know.”

“I hate you,” Kevin mutters, elbowing Manuel in the stomach. There are some days when being the little spoon is awesome.

But Manuel just tightens his arms. “I love you, too.”


	3. Never too late to apologise (Steno)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Bernd + Marc-André, for the tag **that is not how you deepfry a turkey.**

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Requested by _dieemmice_

Of all the things Marc-André expected to see when he walked in the door, Bernd nearly setting his kitchen on fire wasn’t one of them. Okay, so he arrived a couple of hours before he was meant to, but it’s still a surprise to see Bernd in a blue frilly apron, oven mitt in one hand and tongs holding up (what looks like) an overcooked turkey in the other.

“I’m pretty sure that’s not how you deep fry a turkey,” Marc says loudly, trying to be heard over the fire alarm going BEEP BEEP BEEP.

Bernd blinks at him, then yells, “It’s a chicken actually, just, well, jumbo size.”

Marc is about to say something else, but then decides the beeping is way too annoying for this type of conversation; he goes up on tiptoe, fidgets with the alarm cover and pulls out the batteries. Much better. “I can see that. Question is, what are you trying to do with it?”

“Cook, obviously,” Bernd huffs. He turns his back on Marc so that he can drop the charred chicken into his bin, then opens the windows wide to let all the smoke out. “What are you doing here? You said you were coming for dinner.”

“Well it’s a good thing I came early,” Marc smirks, “at least we can order in instead. That is, if you want to eat tonight.”

Bernd huffs some more, mumbling “yeah, yeah, laugh all you want Mr. Masterchef” as he starts cleaning up his kitchen.

Marc just laughs, then opens the drawer that he knows has all the take-away menus in the area.

Two weeks later, Marc is heading out to the pool area of the hotel where all his international teammates are gathered, watching the volley ball game. Bernd is playing, and Marc scowls at his counterpart. Bernd had been acting weird this break, and Marc wasn’t happy about it. He’d never thought he would be annoyed at the fact that Bernd  _wasn’t_  insulting him every other day, but here they are, with the Leverkusen keeper acting all polite and shit and Marc didn’t like it. So he squints at Bernd as he spikes the ball over the net and thinks about a way to corner Bernd later so that they can talk. 

Marc doesn’t realise anyone else has joined him until a towel slaps him lightly on the head. Marc looks up to see Julian Brandt scowling at him. “The hell?”  

“Ugh, stop that!” the young midfielder says.

“Stop what?”

“Staring.”

“I’m not staring,” Marc protests.

Julian gives him a look, then lays his towel out next to him. “ _Please_ , if you stared any harder, Bernd would melt. I’d say take a picture, but that’s just creepy.”

Marc tries hard not to blush, but he can feel his face heat up. “Not staring,” he mumbles again half-heartedly.

Julian gives him another look. “Honestly, I used to get ulcers during break worrying about one or both of you doing something stupid enough to get kicked off the team, now I get tooth decay from how disgustingly sweet you are. When did you turn into such saps? You’re nearly as bad as Marco and Mario.”

Wow, that was so not true;  _nobody_  even came close as those two. “You’re exaggerating,” Marc says.

“No I’m not. Dude, I was with Bernd when your text came a couple of weeks back - don’t pretend you weren’t meeting up for some romantic date or whatever the fuck he was rushing home for.”

Marc blinks at the memory. “It wasn’t like that.” He wouldn’t mind if that really was the reason why he was over, but it wasn’t. Marc did drop by for dinner, but he went back to his parents’ house pretty much as soon as the movie they’d put on was over.

“Whatever,” Julian says, rolling his eyes. “Bernd just had to leave  _straight away_  and get ingredients for this really complicated four hour dinner that he was going to cook just so you guys could, you know,  _hang out_. That didn’t scream ‘important date plans’  _at all._ ”

Marc is too busy remembering that night to come up with a response. He can see in his mind’s eye Bernd being frazzled about the burnt (giant) chicken, and how the other keeper had shoved everything in the fridge as soon as Marc had mentioned just getting take out, a hurt expression on his face. At the time Marc thought that Bernd was annoyed at him about all the teasing and thought that he was overreacting, but maybe there was something else. Oh.  _Oh._  

Maybe Julian was right about the whole special dinner plans thing. That would explain a lot; both how distant Bernd had been that whole night and how the Leverkusen keeper seemed to be avoiding him this break. Well, shit. Marc was going to have to do some major damage control, and he honestly had no idea what to do in the last three days that they still had.

He’s thinking hard about a way he can say “sorry for being an insensitive idiot” without actually saying the words “I’m sorry”, when Julian slaps him lightly on the back of his head. “Jule! The fuck?!”

Julian just rolls his eyes again. “What did I say about not staring and not being a sap?  _Honestly._ ”

Marc just scowls at the midfielder, then picks up his phone, typing in “how to apologise without apologising” into his search engine. He had some work to do.

**[Extra scene]**

It had taken Bernd a whole hour to finally convince Joshua that he wasn’t needed to make their spontaneous pool tournament competitive. It’s not that Bernd didn’t like playing, but he really was tired and wanted to get an early night. He’s thinking about whether he has enough energy to watch a couple of the new episodes of his favourite show, so he doesn’t notice straight away that his room isn’t empty. Marc-André is standing next to the study table, casually scrolling through his phone.

“How did you get in?” Bernd blurts out in surprise. He’d been avoiding the other keeper nearly all break, so he has no idea why Marc is here.

“Jo stole your spare key card for me,” Marc says, nodding at the door where the extra key card was already in place. The Bayern defender must have taken it this morning when he’d come to pick Bernd up for breakfast; and him knowing what Marc was up to was probably the reason why Joshua had kept Bernd downstairs all this time. 

That still didn’t explain what Marc was doing here, though. “Why?” Bernd asks, confused.

Marc waves his hand over the table. “How else was I suppose to get all this stuff up here without you finding out?”

Bernd steps closer to see a selection of bite-sized gourmet deli foods and fruit set out on so many plates. “What’s this for? We’ve already had dinner.”

“I know,” Marc nods, handing him a bottle of light beer. “But we’ve all been working hard and I thought it would be a nice treat.”

Bernd stares at him. “I don’t believe you. What’s this really about?”

Marc has the grace to blush lightly. “So um, maybe I wanted to apologise….”

What? Really? There’s no way he heard that right. “You’re apologising? For?”

“Well. Um. Being a dick, I guess.”

“You’re always a dick,” Bernd points, because it was actually true. “So what was it that’s so bad that made you think you had to apologise for it?”

“I’m not always a dick,” Marc protests.

“You didn’t answer my question.”

Surprisingly, Marc blushes some more. “For being um, insensitive, the other night.”

Bernd blinks. “What?”

“When you cooked. Well, tried to. But nearly burnt your apartment down instead. I was being insensitive.”

O. Kay. Well, that definitely wasn’t what Bernd was expecting. “You’re apologising for making fun of my cooking?”

“To be fair, you didn’t  _actually_ cook, since you, you know, burnt the chicken.” Bernd glares. “But yes, I’m apologising for that.”

Bernd is speechless; he honestly can’t believe Marc is actually - rather belatedly, but hey, better late than never - sorry for that. Marc hadn’t known how much effort Bernd had gone into that dinner, but there must have been something in his face that made the Barcelona keeper notice just how hurt Bernd had been that Marc was making fun of his failed attempt. Bernd’s a little embarrassed that Marc noticed, but if he’s being honest, Bernd’s also relieved to know that Marc actually cared, even just a little. 

He still doesn’t know how to react to this, though. Bernd doesn’t know how to say “apology accepted” without making things even more awkward than they already are, and he hopes Marc just  _gets_  it.  

“You’re not going to food poison me are you?” Bernd asks, because they’d always been shit at talking about feelings and being caring and he’d rather they just move on to the familiarity of bickering. 

Marc grins. “If I was going to do that, I wouldn’t have let Jo in on tonight’s plans - he would have run straight to Jogi if you got sick.”

“Damn straight,” Bernd mutters, finally moving enough so that their shoulders are brushing. Its the closest they’ve been this break when they’re not training and Bernd is surprised at how much of a relief it is to be near again. He’s not going to tell Marc that, though. “How the hell did you manage to get your hands on all this stuff? Did you bribe one of the puppies to go out and get the food?”

Marc smirks at him and hands him a plate so they can start eating. “I have my ways.”


	4. Not another airport meeting (Neuller)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Thomas + Manuel, for the tags **mild homophobia , airports are the worst. ******

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Trigger warnings: Mild homophobic language and use of homophobic slurs
> 
> Requested by [meggiewrites](http://archiveofourown.org/users/meggiewrites)

Any other time, Thomas would be appreciating being in the same space as one of the most beautiful people he’s ever seen in his life, but right now, he’s just too damn sleepy, tired and hungry. They’d been stuck in the airport for hours and it looked like he was never going to get on a plane in time to make it home for Philipp’s birthday celebrations. Seriously? It snowed in Germany  _every fucking year;_ how is it that the airports still managed to shut down over unseasonably early snow?

He’s seriously thinking about seeing if he could afford access to one of the business class lounges just so he could wait somewhere more comfortable than the hard floor of the terminal corridors, but Thomas is too scared that if they do call for passengers for the next flights, he’s not going to be around to put his hand up. The only good thing that’s come out of this whole thing so far is the eye candy that’s the gorgeous blond sitting two metres away from him slumped against the post, charging his phone. Despite the bad posture, Thomas can’t help but notice the breadth of the guy’s shoulders, how well the clothes fit over his (obviously well-built) frame, the brightness of his blue-grey eyes that Thomas could even see from here, and the faint shadow of the beard that was evidence that the guy has probably been stuck at the airport just as long as Thomas has been.

Thomas wasn’t normally the type of guy who blatantly checked people out in public, but he’s exhausted, so he doesn’t realise he’s doing it until he hears someone mutter “fucking fag” near him. At first, Thomas isn’t even sure that it’s addressed at him, but as soon as he looks up and sees a guy giving him a disgusted sneer then look at the Gorgeous Blond and back at him, Thomas  _knows_. All of his tiredness melts away in a second and he is  _livid_.

“Excuse me?” he asks in a mild tone. He doesn’t want to attract too much attention, but no way was he going to let some homophobic douchbag get away with this. “Were you talking to me?”

The other guy just sneers at him some more, then turns his back and walks off towards the far side of their terminal area. Thomas breathes deeply, trying to keep his temper under control and not go after the asshole and punch him in the face. That would just get him kicked out of the airport and possibly be arrested so that he’d miss Philipp’s birthday for real, and yeah  _no -_ that bigoted jerkwad wasn’t going to make him in trouble with his friend.

Sighing, Thomas takes out his phone and sees if he can watch some YouTube clips of baby sloths or something to make him feel better, when he sees that he’s got 27% battery left. Shit. Luckily for him, he has his charger in his backpack and all he needs is to find a free wall socket. Unluckily for him, the only free one is next to Gorgeous Blond. Double shit. Well, there’s nothing he can do about it, so Thomas grabs his bag and shuffles over.

Gorgeous Blond frowns up at him when Thomas stops next to him

“Do you mind if I use that?” he asks, nodding at the power point.

Gorgeous Blond goes pink for some reason, and mumbles “sorry, sorry, of course, sorry” while he snatches his bag up to make room.

Thomas hesitates for a second, then dumps his bag on the floor and plugs his phone in. Out of the corner of his eye, he can sense Gorgeous Blond hunching in on himself and it reminds Thomas of Steve Rogers awkwardly handling his body as though he was still the scrawny kid before he got the serum and not the all-American beefcake that was Captain America. It’s strange to see someone so physically attractive be so shy in his own skin, and it makes something almost protective come out in Thomas.

“How long do you think they’ll keep us here before they finally decide to switch our flight from ‘delayed’ to ‘cancelled’?” Thomas asks in his most casual tone.

Gorgeous Blond gives him a startled look, then says, “I don’t know, but probably soon; it’s been hours.”

Thomas sighs. “I knew I should have sprung for lounge access. I just want a nice soft couch to sit on and endless coffee. This is gonna be hell.”

“Why didn’t you? Spring for lounge access, I mean?” Gorgeous Blond asks him curiously. “We’re probably gonna be stuck here overnight and it’s not gonna be comfortable.”

“I need to get on the flight or I’m going to miss my friend’s birthday,” Thomas explains, hiding his surprise that the other man is actually talking to him. “If I miss it because I’m too far away to hear the announcement, he’s never going to forgive me. I hate snow.” He sighs again, the tiredness coming back full force. “How about you? You going back home to Munich or visiting?”

“Visiting,” Gorgeous Blond replies. “Well, not for pleasure. Not really.”

Thomas can’t help but smirk in amusement. “You’re visiting Munich for pain, then?”

Gorgeous Blond blushes. “No, not that; I meant for business, not pleasure. A job interview actually, so not really fun, you know?”

Thomas laughs. “Sorry I’m just teasing; but you have to admit, that came out pretty funny.”

“It did,” Gorgeous Blond agrees, still blushing. “Sorry, I’m not very intelligent right now. I’ve been up since five and I’m exhausted. If I could afford access to the business class lounge I’d be tempted as well, but I’ve already paid for a hotel tonight I’m probably not going to sleep in and I don’t want to spend anymore money if I don’t have to.”

“I know what you mean,” Thomas nods in sympathy. “Comfy lounges and endless coffee can be so tempting sometimes.”

“Yeah…” Gorgeous Blond agrees with a sigh.

Thomas makes a snap decision then, thinking  _fuck it_ , what did he have to lose? If he was going to be stuck in the airport for another few hours, there were worse people to be stuck with than a seriously hot but endearingly shy guy. “We may not be able to afford endless coffee, but I could use at least one right now. Wanna go grab one?”

Gorgeous Blond looks at him in surprise. “Aren’t you charging your phone?”

“They have charging bays in the food court, too.”

“Oh! Right!” Thomas was seriously starting to find Gorgeous Blond’s blushing adorable. “Yes, that’s a great idea. My butt’s starting to get numb from sitting on this floor any- Whoops. Sorry. Overshare.”

“Nah, it’s all good,” Thomas grins, unplugging his phone and putting the charger back in his bag. “I’m Thomas, by the way.”

“Manuel,” Gorgeous Blond replies, “but you can call me Manu. Only my mom calls me Manuel, and only when I’m in trouble.”

“Well then Manu, let’s see if we can get the biggest cheap coffee we can find while we wait for our flight to  _not_  get called up.”

Manuel gives him a shy smile. “Lead the way.”


	5. How we aught to be (Hömmels)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Benedikt + Mats, for the tags **bed sharing , fake relationship**
> 
> Mats and Benedikt go undercover; there isn't as much acting needed after all. Toni is not surprised.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Set in my [I-spy](http://archiveofourown.org/series/556814) universe because it just fits.
> 
> There is smut towards the end, so when the story shifts from Toni's POV to Bene's POV, you can stop reading if it's not your thing.

Toni’s not sure if he should be surprised that Mats and Benedikt don’t even bat an eyelash when they’re told that they have to go undercover and pretend to be married. They don’t ask why they couldn’t send an actual couple, like Thomas and Lisa (already on another mission) or Marc-André and Bernd (on holiday) instead. In fact, the only thing that they have a problem with, is who gets to take whose last name.

“I’m not taking your name!” Mats objects. “Honestly? Matthias Keller-Müller just sounds so wrong!”

“How is Jans Müller-Keller any better?” Benedikt demands.

“Why the hell do you need double-barrel names, anyway?” Toni interrupts the bickering. “Just stick to one.”

“Mine!” they both say at the same time.

“Rock, paper, scissors,” Mats suggests, holding out his fist. Benedikt holds out his fist. Benedikt loses. Mats looks smug and Benedikt starts pouting.

Toni sighs and wonders if he can get Mesut to go with Bastian on this mission instead.

-

The gated community that Mats and Benedikt move into is comprised primarily of snobby white collar professionals who own luxury cabins both in the Alps for winter skiing and at the Riviera for summer holidaying. Mats and Benedikt - a journalist and a sports physiotherapist, respectively - don’t  _quite_  fit into the community; despite having respectable jobs, neither of them had salaries that should have allowed them to afford a property there. Which is exactly what Toni had wanted: to make the neighbours curious enough at “the Kellers’” source of wealth that they would go out of their way to befriend the new couple.

It takes one whole week before any of the residents make small talk, and it just so happens to be when Benedikt is checking his mail; Toni sends up a prayer of thanks that they’d attached a button-camera onto the mailbox just in case someone got curious enough to steal their mail.

“Hi there!” a middle-aged man wearing an (undoubtedly extremely expensive) pinstripe suit calls out. “You guys must be new; I’m Miles, Miles de Villa.”

“Hi yourself! Jans Keller,” Benedikt replies, holding his hand out to shake Miles’ hand. “And yes, you’re right, we’re new; my husband and I moved in last week and we still haven’t unpacked.” Benedikt rolls his eyes good-naturedly. “I told him we should take time off from work to settle in but he insisted we didn’t have that much stuff. Obviously he’s wrong.”

“Moving always takes more effort than you think,” Miles nods. “How are you liking the Perella’s old place?”

“Nice enough in the summer, though we’ll have to see what it’ll be like in winter. I’m not sure if I like having this tree blocking our front window so much; it’s great for privacy, I guess, but I prefer the sunlight in the colder months.”

“So you’re planning on staying long-term?”

Benedikt is intelligent enough to realise that pin-stripe suit is very subtly scoping them out. “That’s the plan.”

“You’ll have to come to the barbecue at the pool house next week, then. We have one on the first Saturday of every month; it’ll be the best chance for you to meet the other residents.”

“Sounds great! I’m sure Matthias will enjoy it, he does love a good barbecue and beer.”

“Excellent! Looking forward to seeing you and your husband there!”

“And we’re looking forward to going.”

-

“That’s rather fortunate,” Mats says when they discuss the barbecue that night via conference call and Toni updates them on what he’s found out about these monthly gatherings. “I was wondering what dramatic thing we had to do before someone noticed us enough to come snooping around.”

“Being the only gay couple in the community doesn’t make us enough of a curiosity?” Benedikt asks, placing a plate of food in front of Mats before sitting down next to him with his own food.

Toni doesn’t mention the casual domesticity that they’ve already settled into despite it being only a week into the mission. “The whole gay couple thing was to get their attention, you now have to make them curious enough to look into you more.”

“Do we know if Dr. Deitrich is really going to be at the barbecue?” Mats asks.

“According to their Facebook page, he’s been to at least half of the events that they’ve posted about, so there’s probably a good chance that if not this one coming up, then the next one at least,” Toni replies. “If he’s there, talk to him - but only if he approaches you first. Reports say he’s suspicious by nature, so a couple of strangers showing too much interest in him will trigger his alarms. Just use this first event to perfect your “loving couple” image and we’ll work on you getting an invitation to his place afterwards.”

“Not a problem,” Mats says confidently.

Toni isn’t even surprised that Mats is right.

The two agents are a hit, what with both of their natural charm and the residents’ curiosity at their new neighbours. They even remember to act like the loving couple they are supposed to be for the first two hours. Then they go back to their usual bickering and playfulness. Since the agents are wearing cameras, Toni is watching all the interactions live.

Benedikt starts teasing Mats’ regarding his obsession with the NBA, and this starts an argument with the other basketball fans on whether the Warriors deserved to win the last finals. 

“He yells at the TV,” Benedikt rolls his eyes at one of the wives. “You’d think something more dire than his team losing was happening with the way he carries on.”

“Thomas gets like that with football,” Maree confides in a loud whisper, already onto her third glass of rosé despite it not even being noon yet. “You have no idea how happy he was when his beloved Dortmund beat Bayern in the last Cup.”

“Oh dear, Matthias is a BVB fan as well,” Benedikt sighs, “we’re never gonna see our husbands now. They’ll always be together.”

“At least we know where they are,” Maree giggles. “You’re not a football fan?”

“Not as much as Matthias; but I do like Schalke since I was born in the area.”

There’s an audible gasp at Benedikt’s words. 

“How did you two manage to get married if you’re revierderby rivals?” Andreas, another doctor and acquaintance of Dietrich, asks in surprise.

Toni snickers. That had been a memorable day. Mesut, Julian, Mats and Benedikt had come back from a week-long mission with Mesut looking completely done, Julian extremely amused, and Mats and Benedikt ignoring each other. Apparently, they’d started talking football on the second day and that’s when they’d discovered that the two were bitter derby rivals. The rest of the week had been tense; poor Julian and Mesut ended up practically communicating at one or the other because they refused to talk to each other the rest of the mission. They’d obviously “kissed and made up” since then, but seeing the normally close friends bicker and snipe at each other for a month afterwards was actually entertaining.

“What can I say? Love is blind,” Mats replies with a grin.

“ _Very_  blind,” Benedikt agrees wryly. “If we weren’t already partners when I found out, I’d probably have run away screaming.”

“You’re going to have to come our football nights,” Andreas says. “Dietrich here is a Bayern fan and we all give him shit for it. We basically cheer for anyone who plays against them.”

“Laugh it up,” Dietrich says, “we’re gonna win this season again and I’m gonna rub it into just like I always do.”

Mats wrinkles his nose. “That’s only slightly better than being a Smurf.”

Benedikt throws a breadroll at Mats. “Matthias. Jesus. What have we talked about you calling me that?”

To his credit, Mats blushes. “Sorry babe,” he mutters. Then, “not my fault if you are one.”

“Christ,” Benedikt groans, looking upward.

Everyone just laughs and Toni snickers some more, enjoying the entertainment. But what he’s enjoying even more is the fact that both Mats and Benedikt have already gotten invited to socialise with their number one suspect.

“Try and talk to Dietrich some more,” Toni says softly into Mats’ ear-piece. “Get that invitation to his house as soon as possible.”

Toni spends the rest of the day only half paying attention to Mats and Benedikt. Mats - although not quite getting an direct invitation to Dietrich’s place - has stayed by the doctor’s side the whole afternoon, Dietrich seeming to find Mats’ stories about his work as a political journalist to be really interesting. Benedikt has rather strategically targetted Andreas, and had even managed to land a dinner invitation from Maree Schuller, the undisputed alpha wife of the residents. 

All in all, it’s a good day’s work from the two agents, and Toni tells them so; he doesn’t even object when the two go with a few of the residents to another person’s house in order to “have some  _real_  drinks” (according to Maree’s husband). Mats and Benedikt leave their cameras on just in case knowing the layout of the Schuller’s residence ended being important for the mission later on.

Close to nine, Mats and Benedikt say their good byes then walk the ten minutes back to the house. They barely manage to stumble their way upstairs, both tipsy, stripping off their clothes and throwing them into the laundry basket. When Toni hears the water run and sounds of teeth brushing going on, he turns off the camera recording for the night so he can go to bed as well.

\--

When Benedikt wakes, it’s to a mild headache, a slightly floaty feeling, and Mats’ erection pressed up against the small of his back. Without thinking, Benedikt wiggles back into his fellow spy, sighing sleepily when Mats curls himself around him. There’s a part of him that knows that they’re both still half asleep and if they were both fully awake, then this probably wouldn’t be happening, but as it is, Benedikt’s defences are down and all he wants to do is enjoy the feel of Mats grinding against the junction of his ass as Mats gently cups his own growing erection. When Benedikt takes Mats hand and pushes it into the waistband of his pajama pants, Mats presses his lips against the back of Benedikt’s neck, breathing hard and sucking softly.

Benedikt arches his back and groans in pleasure as Mats starts to stroke him slowly while at the same time pressing and grinding against him in the same rhythm. He doesn’t know how long this goes for, but when he comes, it’s with a gasp and delicious burst of warmth and Mats slows down but doesn’t stop until he’s spent. After wiping his hand against the outside of Benedikt’s pants, Mats grips his hips then starts moving against him more urgently; it’s less than a minute before Mats lets out a low moan and goes still. Benedikt reaches over behind his head as Mats licks at his neck, gently stroking his fingers through his friend’s hair. Sleep quickly takes them over again.

The second time Benedikt wakes up, he’s alone in bed, although he can hear the shower going. It takes a second for the memories to come back, and when they do, he wants to kick himself. How cliché it is that it would take an undercover mission and some alcohol for his inhibitions to fall enough that this would happen. It’d been building for a long time, and Benedikt had been so good in keeping those growing feelings to himself, trying not to let on that he was falling for the tall, dark and handsome agent. The short, past couple of weeks had been almost too easy, living with Mats as his “husband” feeling too comfortable, too natural, and it’s no wonder Benedikt had let his guard down. He hadn’t even had to act during the barbecue despite it being their first time out in public as a married couple in this mission, and he’s pretty sure that the rest of the six months would go smoothly.

Benedikt sighs; they still had at least half a year of the undercover mission and if Mats ending up regretting the early morning sex enough for it to be awkward, then it was going to be a long six months. Because they are both professionals and had been best friends for a long time now, Benedikt is pretty sure that they’d still be able to act convincingly as a couple, but sharing a bed would be hard and the easy tactile relationship would be dead. Sighing again, he quickly changes his soiled pajama pants then heads downstairs to start breakfast and get some caffeine into him.

Mats comes down as he’s finished pouring milk into his coffee, and he asks with as much nonchalance as he can manage, “Coffee?”

“Please,” Mats nods, hesitating for a moment before coming over.

Benedikt tries not show his surprise when Mats lifts his hands and cups Benedikt’s face, hesitation and fear - but also determination - on his face.

“Is this okay?” Mats asks lowly, “Tell me if this isn’t what you want, too.”

Benedikt can’t find the words, so in response, he palms the back of Mats’ neck and pulls him slowly closer until they are kissing.

“I was so scared it was just me,” Mats confesses when they pull apart, foreheads pressed together. “I’ve wanted to ask you on a date for so long, but if you’d’ve said no, I wouldn’t have wanted to lose your friendship either.”

Benedikt hums; he knows exactly what that feels like. “I probably would’ve said something eventually, but I think this mission made me realise I’m probably in far deeper than I thought.” He pauses, then blushes lightly as he admits, “I’m glad we got put on this mission; being married to you is nice.”

Mats kisses him, laughing lightly. “You think Toni did this on purpose?”

“Probably; he’s a bit of a busy-body sometimes, isn’t he?”

“I think this is the one time I’m glad.”

Benedikt can only agree. “Yeah, me too.”


	6. Consultation hours (Müller/Klose)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Thomas + Miro, for the tag **agony aunt**
> 
>  
> 
> Miro is the national team's favourite advice-giver

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is set in the Confed Cup and let’s just all pretend Thomas was there, okay? Enjoy (and if you have any idea what the ship name is, please let me know lol)

If Thomas didn’t already think that Miro was a saint before, he certainly does now. He’s sitting in Miro’s bathroom, listening to Miro give advice to one of the puppies (relationship advice, this time) for the third time this break, and wondering if it was insensitive to tell Joshua that 6 weeks was not a long time to be away from Julian Weigl, especially since during the season, they could go for up to three months without seeing each other. It probably is, Thomas decides, because he knew from experience how much he’d looked forward to international breaks when Miro moved to Rome and he can’t really begrudge Joshua moping.

It’s another twenty minutes before the young defender finally leaves - presumably to look for Julian Brandt and Leon so that they can all mope together - and Thomas finally lets himself out of the bathroom.

“I don’t know how you do it,” Thomas says, sitting on the bed. “Even when you were playing with us you were everyone’s agony aunt; how do you have so much patience?”

Miro smiles gently, then pulls Thomas to him; Thomas sighs and happily snuggles into the former striker. “Most of the time people come to me just for someone to talk to, not necessarily tell them what to do. It doesn’t cost much to be a good listener.”

“Except when you’re trying to get naked and they’re banging on your door,” Thomas grumbles.  They hadn’t been interrupted in their alone time tonight, but the other two times they had, and Thomas was just going to enjoy being pressed closely to Miro as much as he could. 

Miro chuckles. “Well, there’s that; maybe I should post “consulting hours” on my door so they know when I’m unavailable.”

“Are you unavailable now?” Thomas grins slowly.

“Go to sleep Schatz,” Miro laughs. “We’ve got an early start tomorrow and I know you’re tired; we worked you all pretty hard today.”

Thomas grumbles some more, but does as he is told, soon falling asleep with Miro pressed close to him.

A week later, Thomas is again sitting in Miro’s bathroom waiting for the latest puppy with a problem to leave, but this time, he’s annoyed. And naked, which is why he’s annoyed in the first place. Okay so it’s been pretty obvious that Timo has started to worship Miro the same way that all the other younger (and older, really) players have, and it’s also natural that Timo would come to Miro for advice just like everyone else has, but at 10.30pm?? Really?? Isn’t he supposed to be celebrating the win with all the other puppies like puppies normally do?

Ugh!

Thomas wraps a towel around his waist and thinks about getting comfortable. He has a feeling this is going to be another long one, so he climbs into the bathtub; if he stays very quiet, he can actually hear what they’re talking about.

_"I get it,” Timo is saying, “I had my chance to say something before and I missed out so that’s on me, but it’s hard, Miro.”_

Miro murmurs something comforting.

_“It’s bad enough that he mopes all the time - I swear, him, Jule and Leon are like a wet blanket when they start moping together - but he comes to me as well. We’re friends, but this is torture.”_

There are sounds of sobbing and more murmuring from Miro and Thomas is actually starting to feel bad for the poor kid.

_“I’m trying to be happy for him - I really am - but it’s so hard!”_

More sobbing, more murmuring, and Thomas sighs in defeat. Not only has his hard on said goodbye for the night, he’s also pretty sure that Miro isn’t gonna be in the mood anymore either after Timo leaves. He leans his head back on the edge of the tub wondering if they’d be allowed out into town tomorrow for their day off.

-

The next time someone knocks on Miro’s door, Thomas grabs a pillow and his novel and makes himself comfortable in the bathtub.

-

Thomas dances into his room, flicking on the lamp and humming a tune even as he strips to get ready for bed. The celebrations had been long and loud until Jogi and Olli had finally kicked them out of the conference room to get some sleep since they were only into the semis and still needed their rest.

For once Thomas is actually feeling tired - those puppies had energy to burn and even he had a hard time keeping up - so he brushes his teeth and takes a shower in record time, and is just about to switch off his lamp when there’s a knock on his door.

Thomas frowns. What the fuck? Who could possibly be wanting to talk to him at this hour? When there’s another knock, he sighs and throws the blankets off him, grumbling all the way to the door.

His grumbling stops when he sees who’s standing on the hallway, and he lets out a delighted sound when Miro pushes him up against the wall and kisses him as soon as the door shuts behind them.

“Not that I’m complaining,” Thomas says breathlessly, “but why are you here? Aren’t you worried that someone’s going to look for you and you’re not in your room?”

“Consulting hours are closed,” Miro replies with an eye roll. “If I’m not in my room, they can’t find me. And most of the puppies don’t know to look for me with you yet, so….”

“You are a genius!” Thomas says in between kissing the former striker some more and dragging him towards the centre of the room.

“You only just figured that out now?” Miro laughs. “I thought you were smarter than that, Schatz.”

Thomas rolls his eyes, then pushes Miro backwards onto the bed. “I save my smarts for other, more important things,” he says with a teasing grin.


	7. Love me, do (Ju & Jo).

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Joshua + Julian W, for the tags **what animal is that , sexy cabbage husband**
> 
> Joshua is very talented, and Julian loves him for it.

Julian honestly thinks that Joshua is one of the most talented footballers he has ever met. He’s not even being biased; when you’ve been described as the successor to Philipp Lahm, you know you’re good. What really impresses him about Joshua, however, is that when he finds something he’s not that great at, he’ll try and try until he comes close to be as expert as possible, which is pretty impressive when you consider that he taught himself how to knit socks from YouTube videos. 

And Joshua’s latest hobby? Food art. He’s only just starting though, so as expected, it’s not always a complete success.

“What animal is [that](http://t.umblr.com/redirect?z=http%3A%2F%2Fgrandparentsplus.com%2Fwp-content%2Fuploads%2F2013%2F03%2FFruit-Vegetable-Creations-241.jpg&t=ZjU1OTU1Mjk1MzhhODg4YzdiYTQ1ZmNiYzQ3NGRhNTQ3NDMzZWQ1Miw2eGxxS09lSw%3D%3D&b=t%3An-lioEUXe-yT7xoAE8b67w&p=https%3A%2F%2Fkhalehla-blah.tumblr.com%2Fpost%2F163077537986%2Ffor-footballerindreams-who-sent-a-couple-of-tags&m=1)?” Julian asks, pointing at the piece in the middle of what looks to be a whole garden’s worth of fruit and vegetables on Joshua’s dining table.

“A dog of course,” Joshua says with a frown.

Julian squints, tips his head to the side, then hums. “I thought it was a sheep, actually,” he admits.

Joshua pouts. “It’s my puppy.”

“Don’t get too attached,” Julian smiles, “considering you have to, you know, _eat_ it later.”

Joshua pats his little creation. “Don’t worry Cloud, I still love you. Don’t listen to Ju - he’s just jealous that you look so good.”

“Cloud? Cloud? You _named_ it?”

“It’s the personal touch, you know.”

“Do you want me to give you some time alone?” Julian can’t help but laugh.

“Why are you like this? I thought you loved me?”

“Don’t worry, you’ll always be my sexy, cabbage husband.”

“Cabbage? CABBAGE? Could you have _possibly_ chosen a vegetable even _less_ sexier than a cabbage?” Joshua demands. “And why vegetables? Why not a fruit? Fruit is sexy. Mangos are sexy! I can be your sexy mango husband! Or sexy strawberry husband! Yeah! Strawberry husband! Strawberries are definitely sexy!”

The mental images make Julian’s brain shut down, and he starts giggling uncontrollable. “Okay, my adorkable little strawberry. I think you’ve missed the point, but we can go with it.”

Joshua throws an orange piece - the ear of his puppy creation - at him.

“You broke Cloud!” Julian laughs hysterically. “How could you? You said you loved him!”

Joshua throws the other orange ear quickly followed by the cauliflower head.

“You decapitated him! You MONSTER!”

Julian eventually stops laughing when a pineapple hits him on the head.


	8. Heart song (Meyretzka)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Leon + Max, for the tags **ballet without plot , what the hell are you doing here at 3am?**

It’s not until he hears the loud  _crack!_  that Leon realises that someone is throwing rocks at his window.

“What the hell?” Leon asks himself, walking over to his window and opening it up in time to almost be brained by another rock. “What the  _hell?_ ”

“Psst! Leon!”

Leon groans. Oh hell no, he thinks to himself, is that really Max?

“Leon, I know you’re awake, I can see your light on!”

“Max do you have any idea what time it is?” Leon demands when he finally sees his best friend standing in the front yard of this apartment.

“Open up!” Max says, not answering his question.

“It’s 3am! What the hell are you doing here at 3am? Can’t it wait until a decent time?”

“No!” Max says, sounding exasperated now. “You’re already awake; come on, Leon!”

“For fuck’s sake Leon, let him in!” a grumpy voice calls out. “We don’t need you two reenacting Romeo and Juliet in the middle of the fucking night!”

“Oh go away Leroy!” Leon calls back, so thankful that no-one can see him blushing in the dark, “not like you’re sleeping either!”

“You two are so fucking loud!” another voice joins in, “either let Max in, Leon or I’m calling Bene.”

Leon sighs, because he’s 99% sure that Ralle would definitely go through with his threat and he really didn’t need “disturbing the peace” on his record, thank you very much. “Come on up, Max.”

Max practically bounces out of the lift and Leon can’t help but smile as he sees his best friend. Yeah it’s  _all hail Satan_ -o’clock, but Leon pretty much was always happy to see the shorter boy and so he’s only a teensy bit annoyed. Leon was kinda that far gone and it was admittedly really pathetic but he was used to it; being in love with your best friend since first year kinda made you tolerant of a lot of things you’d normally not accept from anyone else.

“This had better be good,” Leon says when Max pushes past him.

“I figured it out!” Max says excitedly, bouncing again. “I was watching some sword dancing on YouTube and they’re so fucking graceful Lee!”

“Okay,” Leon smiles, sitting on his bed. God Max was beautiful like this, excited and practically vibrating out of his skin, and oh God, Leon wanted to smack himself for being such a complete pathetic sap that he didn’t even care now that it was still ass-o’clock in the morning.

Max grins at him. “And it just clicked! Why not set the song to ballet? Kinda like what Ed Sheeran did? I mean, everyone else is gonna be doing the same old thing with lights and video clips for their composition, so we gotta do something else to stand out. Imagine this-” and Max sits on the bed so that they’re pressed together from shoulder to thigh. “-the lights are down, with only a small spotlight on us, acoustic style. We can get Johannes to play the cajon, but he’ll be in shadows mostly. And we get Leroy to dance for us. We’ll put the emphasis back on the song and the lyrics and the music instead of distracting cinematography.”

Leon has to admit, it’s a brilliant idea. Their composition was almost too common in it’s acoustic feel, but it was their first piece and they had wanted something  _safe_  just to start the semester well. Having Leroy dance while they highlighted their music and only the music was surely going to be unique compared to the MTV style pieces he knew their other classmates were doing. The challenge, of course, was getting Leroy to even agree to dance for them.

“That’s actually a really good idea,” Leon smiles, pressing into his friend a little bit more. “Have you talked to Leroy yet? Or are you going to spring this on him then guilt him into doing it like you normally do?”

“Don’t worry about Leroy,” Max grins. “He’s gonna say no first, but when has he ever not wanted to show off? Besides, it’s not like he can’t get extra credit for choreographing the piece for us.”

“True,” Leon agrees. “So are we gonna let him set the theme or are we gonna make him stick to something that reflects the lyrics closely?”

“I ah- I actually had a idea,” Max says almost shyly. “I mean I’m not a dancer the same way Leroy is, but I did tap and performance as a kid and I think I could help Leroy make it work. I’d have to show him, but I think I remember enough of my lessons to get the idea across.”

“I’ve seen you dance, Max, and you’re really, really good. I’m sure Leroy’s gonna love your input.” It was easy to compliment his best friend when all he was doing was telling the truth.

Max gives him another shy smile, then asks, “do you want me to show you?”

“What? Now?” Leon asks in surprise. “You’ve got the steps already?”

“Not all of them, but some, yeah.”

“I’m impressed,” Leon says in admiration. “Maybe you’ve underestimated your dance skills if you could come up with something so quickly.”

For some reason, Max ducks his head and blushes. “Dancing is like writing music for me.”

“Yeah? In what way?”

“It’s easier when it’s personal.”

For just a second, Leon doesn’t understand, but then he realises what Max means and it’s like a punch to the gut.

> _It’s true what they say_
> 
> _Don’t you know what they say?_
> 
> _When it’s right there in front of you_
> 
> _You turn your head and look away_
> 
> _Cuts so open_
> 
> _Tears so deep_
> 
> _Tell me this time_
> 
> _All I’m begging is that you’ll stay_

Despite the fact that they’d worked on the composition together, Max had provided most of the lyrics while he provided the majority of the music. Max being a natural poet lent gravitas to the song, and Leon had joked at the time that Max’s words sounded almost too raw for him to not be singing about something personal. Max had shrugged and looked away. Now, Leon feels blindsided; he hadn’t even known that Max was in love, let alone had his heart broken, and he doesn’t know whether it hurts more that Max was in love with someone else or that he’d been such a poor friend to not even realise the heart break that Max had gone through.

“Yeah,” Leon manages to force out. “I’m sorry you had to go through that. But at least we got a good song out of it?” Leon winces internally, because Christ, that was lame.

But Max just gives him a puzzled look. “Go through what?”

“You know, getting your heart broken,” Leon flounders, “it sucks and I’m sorry I wasn’t there for you at the time…”

Max just looks even more confused. “Heart broken? I’m not heart broken. Or was heartbroken. Not yet, I guess. Shit. I don’t understand.”

It’s now Leon’s turn to be confused. “But the song? You said…? Personal? The lyrics?”

Max stares at him without understanding for a little while longer, then his eyes widen in realisation. But when he speaks, it’s not what Leon’s expecting. “Really?” Max asks almost sadly. “Are you really the only know who hasn’t figured it out yet, Leon?”

Leon wants to bash his head against the wall, because goddammit he doesn’t understand and he’s  _trying! “_ Can’t you explain it to me so that I get it?”

Max’s closes his eyes then sighs heavily, and Leon wants to cry at how defeated Max looks. What the hell was he missing?!

“Leon,” Max all but whispers. “The song. The lyrics. I wrote them for you.”

For the second time in as many minutes, Leon feels blindsided. Maybe he was dreaming and none of this was real. Was this a delusion that his pining mind and heart have created to get him through a few more months of being so close but still so far? Because if it is, it’s the most vivid one yet.

He’s about to slap himself to snap out of this hallucination, when  ~~dream? real?~~  Max heaves another sigh then stands. 

“I’m not expecting anything from you or trying to make you uncomfortable,” Max says softly, “but I honestly thought you knew. Nothing has to change; but it’s been years Leon, and I wasn’t going to be able to hide it from you much longer.”

Leon knows he’s gaping unattractively but he can’t help it. “So you wrote the lyrics for me?” he asks, because he can’t trust quite yet that this is real.

Max gives him another shy, sad smile. “Yeah. Sorry.”

Leon inhales sharply. “Don’t apologise. Never apologise.” He takes a deep breath, gathers what little courage he has, then tentatively reaches out to take Max’s hand and lace their fingers together. Max goes stock still but doesn’t move, and Max gathers some more courage as he whispers, “because the song? The music I wrote? I wrote it for you.” 


	9. It's all pretend until it isn't (Trappler)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Kevin T + Julian D, for the tag fake relationship

“This is the best idea you’ve ever had,” Kevin says whilst biting into the chocolate pecan tart he’s eating.

Julian wants to object and say that he’s had a lot of good ideas, but at this very moment, he’s trying not to moan out loud over how good the strawberry and ganache cupcake he’s eating is.

When he saw the flyer, Julian knew he had to go. He’d gone to a cake tasting before as a last minute guest with Benedikt for his wedding, but this was different; instead of one bakery, the Wedding Cake Expo would have dozens of bakers, cake makers and dessert specialists showing off their creations. Okay, so they still had to pay for the treats, but at one euro per tart, it would still be worth it.

“What do we need to do to get in?” Kevin had asked when Julian showed him the flyer.

“It’s a wedding expo so we’ll have to pretend to be engaged,” Julian said tentatively, fully expecting Kevin to blanch at the idea. To his surprise, Kevin didn’t even blink.

“Do we need to get fake rings?”

“Ah, maybe not? I mean, it’s not compulsory, is it? For guys to have engagement rings?”

“Not sure, but I’ll see if I can borrow a couple just in case.”

And that’s how Julian found himself getting sugar high two weeks later, Kevin by his side.

“Is it just me or do these things get better and better?” Kevin asks as he hands Julian his tart and they swap cakes.

Julian moans out loud. “How is it chocolate can taste so different and so good each time? I mean, this is the fifth one we’ve had already, we should be sick of them by now.”

“I really liked the salted chocolate one,” Kevin agrees. He takes a drink from one of their (smuggled in) water bottles, then hands it over to Julian. “But we’ve still got the whole fluffy cakes section to try out.”

“I saw an orange and lemon one earlier,” Julian agrees, “I really wanna try that one.”

When they get to the stands, there’s not that many couples there, so Julian chooses five of the best looking ones, gets his five euro note changed to coins, then tries them all, heading for the orange and lemon one first. It’s not as good as it looks.

“It’s not as lemony as you’d think, right?” a bride-to-be says next to him. “I mean, I don’t mind the orange but it’s kinda too much without the tang of the lemon to balance it out.”

Julian nods. “And it’s sticky; is it supposed to be like this?”

“I think so,” the bride-to-be says, frowning at the cake description. “It says here it’s layered with orange caramel syrup. Ugh, no wonder. This is definitely going in the hard NO list.”

Julian hums in agreement, wondering if it was worth saving some for Kevin. He’s about to wrap it in tissue anyway when his friend comes up to him with a frown on his face. “What’s wrong?”

“I think I just ate something with curry in it.”

Julian makes a face. “In a cake? Sounds gross.”

The bride-to-be laughs. “There’s a lot of experimental flavours going around, and spices are a big deal this year. Not all of them are great, I guess.”

“Whatever that was, I’m gonna give it a miss for now,” Julian says.

“If you haven’t already, don’t forget to try the gelato because they’re really worth it!”

They decide to take the bride-to-be’s advice and spend a chunk of their budget for the day on the gelato, which admittedly was fantastic. Kevin is off to get some coffee for the last of the fruit flans when Julian bumps into the same bride-to-be from earlier.

“How did it go?” she asks.

“You were right, the gelato was good.”

“You guys end up choosing anything for the wedding?”

Even though he should have anticipated someone actually asking them that exact question, it still takes Julian by surprise and he flounders for an answer.

“Ahh, well, um we forgot to make notes and yeah. I mean no, no choice yet.”

The bride-to-be tips her head to the side and purses her lips together. “Are you telling me that you two are  _not_  engaged?”

Shit. Julian should have realised that someone might figure them out, too, but again he’s caught by surprise. “So what if we’re not?” he asks somewhat defensively.

The bride-to-be shakes her head. “I didn’t mean it like that; a lot of people fake being engaged to come to these things so don’t think you’re the only ones.”

“Okay,” Julian says, still on the defensive. “Why did you sound so surprised, then?”

The bride-to-be gives him a thoughtful look, before saying, “because you don’t act  _not_  engaged.”

Julian blinks in surprise. “What?”

“We’ve been at the same tasting tables a couple of times, and I swear I thought you guys were real. I mean, you share your food and wipe cream off each other’s faces and touch each other comfortably,” she explains. “At the tarts table, he even picked out the cashews.”

“He knows I don’t like them,” Julian tries to explain. “And he does that when we have anchovies in our food because I’m allergic; he just does stuff like that. He’s just being thoughtful you know because we’re good friends and he’s always been thoughtful like that and-”

Julian snaps his mouth shut when he realises he’s babbling.

“Oh dear,” the bride-to-be says slowly. “Please don’t tell me you’re in love with him and didn’t know it.”

Julian tenses, ready to rebuff her question, because he’s not. He’s not. 

They’re good friends. If they’re projecting “intimacy” it’s because they’re comfortable around each other. When Julian moved to Paris for his masters, Kevin had been there to help him settle and introduced him to his friends and Julian was thankful. So what if they spent all their free time together and practically live in each other’s pockets and regularly had wordless conversations and could nag each other to eat better/get some exercise/sleep for fuck’s sake? That’s what friends did, right? Right?

Except, a quiet, treacherous part of him whispers that “friends” don’t plan all their holidays together, or text all day and talk every night, or fall asleep on each other after a stressful day because it’s the only way they can get rest, or feel content just spending time together even if it’s just to sit quietly and study, or get butterflies in their stomach when their friend presses his face into their neck, or, or… oh dear.

_Oh dear._

“I-” Julian flounders some more. It’s so obvious now that he thinks about it, and he’s mortified that it took a stranger to point it out to them.

“You should tell him,” the bride-to-be says encouragingly. “If they way he looks at you is anything to go by, I’d bet my engagement ring that he feels the same way.”

“I-, we’re just friends,” Julian half-heartedly denies. There’s no way Kevin felt anything more than platonic-really-good-close-friends for him; Julian would have  _known_. 

 _But if you didn’t realise until now how you felt about him_ , the quiet treacherous part of him whispers,  _how were you supposed to tell how he feels about_ you _?_

Julian swallows hard and gives the bride-to-be a panicked look, but she just smiles at him.

“I’m not wrong in this,” she says gently. “If a stranger like me thought you were really engaged even when you two weren’t even trying to fake it, doesn’t that say a lot about how you two feel about each other? No-one acts this in love so naturally if there isn’t love there in the first place.”

“We’re just friends,” Julian repeats weakly, knowing that he himself isn’t convinced either.

“But you could be more,” the bride-to-be smiles at him. “Why don’t you give it a try? I think you’d be surprised that it’s not as scary as you think.” She nods over his shoulder and Julian turns to see Kevin struggling through the crowd, two coffee cups in his hand. When Kevin spots them, his face eyes light up and he grins broadly.

Julian swallows hard. Fuck. Fuck.

“Tell him,” the bride-to-be encourages him again. “And who knows, in a couple of years, you could be back here, but for real, this time.”


	10. It's the extra features that's worth remembering (implied Hömmels, Götzeus, Steno)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Mario + Marco, Marc-André + Bernd, Mats + Benedikt, for the tag **overdetailed descriptions of bathrooms**

Of all the things that they’ve gotten into arguments over before, the insides of public bathrooms is probably their most ridiculous.

“That was in Norway, Mülli,” Toni is saying. “The ones in Paris were so close together you could flush for the person two urinals down.”

“Yes but the ones in Paris also had the Chanel hand cream on top of the urinals, remember? The ones in Norway actually had them on the basins where they were supposed to be.”

“True,” Benedikt agrees. “I mean, how weird was that? Who puts lotions on top of the urinals? You’re supposed to wash your hands first.”

“Maybe they’re self contained,” Mats suggests.

Toni rolls his eyes. “That’s ridiculous, Mats.”

“Remember the toilets in Japan?” Mario giggles out of nowhere. “They had air streams and water jets.”

“Like the ones in Italy,” André nods.

“No, those were just normal bidets,” Mario disagrees. “Pretty shwanky bidets, but the ones in Japan were like high tech toilet seats.”

“Pretty uncomfortable though,” Marco adds. “I mean the gadgets were cool but having warm water sprayed at your bum isn’t as much fun when you’re sitting on hard, squeaky plastic seats.”

“Right?” Mario nods.

“I didn’t notice them particularly squeaky,” Ju Weigl grins. “What the hell were you two doing in them that made the plastic seats so annoyingly loud?”

Everyone laughs while Marco gives Ju Weigl the middle finger.

“Well I’ll trade high tech toilet seats for those gorgeous marble ones at the resort in Austria,” Thomas says dreamily. “If I ever designed a chalet, my bathroom would look like that.”

“Which one was that?” Marc-André asks curiously. “I don’t remember any marble toilet seats in any of the camps?”

“That was before your time,” Manuel explains. “The hotel had to do last minute stuff so they put some of us on the top floor with all the suites and they had marble bathrooms.”

“With the clear bathroom walls,” Thomas giggles.

“Really?” Joshua asks in disbelief. “No way!”

“They were obviously honeymoon suites,” Benedikt explains.

“And they were actually frosted,” Mats adds. “So that you couldn’t really see anything anyone was doing in there.”

“But you could guess,” Thomas winks.

“Thomas you managed to con Olli into letting you get your own suite,” Toni points out, “I don’t understand why you’re so excited about those bathrooms.”

Thomas winks at the Madrid midfielder. Toni rolls his eyes.

“Well they couldn’t have been as nice as the ones in Andorra,” Mario says. “They had heated floors and waterfalls.”

“No, that was in the Ukraine,” Benedikt disagrees. “The one in Andorra had the gold taps, if I remember right.”

“You could hardly call the one in the Ukraine a waterfall,” Manuel shakes his head. “It was barely a water feature.”

“But it definitely wasn’t in Andorra,” Mats insists. “I would have remembered if the one in Andorra had a waterfall.”

“Really?” Manuel asks with a lift of an eyebrow. “Why is that?”

Mats just gives him a  _how do you think?_  look. “Of course,” the keeper rolls his eyes.

“Maybe Madrid?” Marco asks tentatively, trying to remember. “Or London? Didn’t we stay in one of those old heritage hotels once?”

“I think the ones in London were bronze, not gold,” Marc-André says. “I’m pretty sure Mario is right about the taps one being in Andorra, but the waterfalls…”

“Well I’m pretty sure the only hotel we’ve been to recently with a waterfall is still the Ukraine - or at least somewhere in eastern Europe.”

“Seriously Bene, that wasn’t a waterfall,” Manuel cuts in again. “The hotel was old and the bathroom was small - how was a waterfall supposed to fit?”

“Well then you tell us where it was then,” Mats interjects.

“If course you’d stick up for Bene,” Manuel rolls his eyes. “I’m just saying.”

“Manu’s right,” Thomas says. “I’m pretty sure it wasn’t Ukraine.”

It’s Mats and Benedikt’s turn to roll their eyes.

“You don’t even remember what the hotel in Ukraine looked like, Mülli,” Benedikt says.

They’re all about to get into an actual argument about the damned waterfall when Bernd walks past and casually says, “You’re both wrong; the one with the waterfall was in private suites that we all broke into one night at the the resort we stayed in Italy during camp. It still wasn’t as nice as the one in Greece though - they had the cool skylights and rainforest shower. And Egyptian cotton hand towels instead of paper towels;  _man_ , they were like  _clouds_.”

They all gape at the Leverkusen keeper who just keeps walking out the other door as though he didn’t just interrupt a conversation that involved overdetailed descriptions of bathrooms. They then simultaneously turn to Marc-André who’s blushing so hard he looks sunburnt.

“What?” the Barcelona keeper asks trying - and failing - to look innocent.

“Like clouds?” Benedikt asks with a raised eyebrow. 

Marc-André just blushes some more but wisely doesn’t say anything.

“I guess it was the one in Italy, then,” Mario shrugs.

Argument solved.


	11. It's all platonic until it's not (Calum Chambers/Rob Holding)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Calum Chambers + Rob Holding, for the tag **platonic bed sharing**

It’s on the third night in his own room that Rob realises why he can’t sleep. He’d been tossing and turning for the past 3 hours and he’s  _exhausted_  from the effort of trying to rest - if that wasn’t the most messed up thing he’s heard in a while! The bed is the same quality, the room is on the same floor in the same hotel but for some reason he feels the emptiness. It’s frustrating.

He blames Mesut and Shkodran for this; which is kinda unfair since it’s not their fault that they had to bunk during the first week of training camp (seriously who schedules renovations when they know an entire football team is going to be staying for a month?!?), but Rob’s gonna blame them anyway.

He’d been roomed with Mesut, and on the second night the midfield maestro had casually entered their room with Shkodran in tow and told him that he and the other German on the team had wanted to room for a couple of days and if he minded rooming with Calum instead. When Rob had asked if they were even  _allowed_  to be room swapping, both men had looked at him like he was daft. Now, Rob was pretty sure they were meant to stay with their allocated roommates, but the two Germans had looked so surprised at his question, so he’d let it drop, wondering if they knew something he didn’t.

So Calum had become his roommate, which would have been fine because they were good mates, except that Calum was bed hog and they were sharing a queen. Mesut had been a neat bedmate, sticking to his side of the bed, but Calum sprawled like an amoeba trying to take up all the bed space, and more often than not, Rob would wake up with Calum using him as his personal life-sized teddy bear.

At first it had been annoying, waking up feeling suffocated, because they were good friends but they weren’t  _that_  close. Calum had felt embarrassed the first time, but since he didn’t seem to be able to control himself when he slept, Rob had resigned himself to it.

“Is this why Mustafi wanted to swap?” Rob had tried to tease, “He didn’t want to be the little spoon?”

Calum had gone bright red at that. “I don’t mean to,” he’d mumbled. “I try to stay on my side but I can’t help it.”

“It’s okay, I don’t mind.”

Rob wasn’t lying about that; he’d quickly gotten used to it, and well, it really was nice. Calum was actually quite adorable first thing in the morning. Whenever Rob’s alarm went off (they’d quickly stopped setting both phones since there wasn’t any point), Calum would clutch on to Rob even more and mumble “five more minutes”. Three times. Rob had learnt to set his alarm fifteen minutes earlier because it took a while to get Calum’s octopus limbs off him so that he could get the first shower of the morning. 

It became a routine, one that included fighting over who got the first shower, gossiping about their national teammates (hey, just because their time with the Young Lions was up, doesn’t mean they didn’t keep in touch), bickering over who was going to be little spoon (yes, apparently, that was thing even amongst team mates) and inappropriate beard burn jokes (”fuck you Rob, you’re just jealous you still can’t grow a proper beard like a  _real_  adult!” Calum had griped, and Rob had laughed hysterically until Calum had kicked him off the bed). A nice routine. But just as it was starting to become normal - they’d been given their own rooms again. It had been jarring waking up cold in the middle of the night because he’d gotten used to sharing Calum’s body heat, and he’d forgotten to change his alarm time and woke up mumbling “five more minutes” to himself just because he was up a tad too early. He  _could_  change the alarm time but he’s reluctant to. He’d avoided examining why, though.

But it’s now onto the third day on his own and it’s 2 am and he’s still not sleeping and they have early training tomorrow and  _fuck_ , he misses Calum’s sprawled out on his side of the bed. The double - though smaller than the queen - feels cold and empty, and there’s a certain  _wrongness_  to not waking up with Calum’s beard scratching at his skin, or the smell of honey shampoo, or incoherent mumblings against his shoulder.

And all the avoidance he’d been practicing is out the window at ass o’clock in the morning because there. There it is. They’d only had to share for six days but his body had somehow quickly gotten used to having the other defender snuggled up against him that he wonders how he’d missed it. Everything about sharing a bed with Calum had felt natural, and now that they’ve got separate rooms, Rob feels an annoying itch just under his skin that he’s afraid will be there for the rest of camp. It makes the next few days hell. 

The lack of sleep is starting to take it’s toll, and Rob finds that he can’t quite meet Calum’s eyes either. Every time he sees his friend he gets flashbacks to Calum’s bed-mussed hair once he finally gets up in the morning, or a phantom breath against his neck, or a feeling of warmth against his side. His body seems to be reliving what it’s like having Calum so physically close to him, and Rob’s first reaction is to panic. The only reason why he’s keeping it together is because he can’t afford to break down in camp since he’s still so new to the team.

By night number 5 of sleeping alone he’s grumpy as shit and taking it (very subtly) out on Mesut and Shkodran.

After a week, Rob has to physically stop himself from latching on to Calum like a koala every time they happen to sit next to each other. He’d done it just yesterday, practically draping himself into the other defenders lap when Calum had sat next to him after dinner, nuzzling into Calum’s sternum before he could stop himself. Calum had gone stiff as a board, then tentatively started rubbing his back, murmuring “there there” like he was afraid Rob was going to break down any minute now. 

It had been awkward as fuck, but at least Calum had just nodded when Rob muttered “I’m so tired. I think I have insomnia” as a mediocre excuse for why he was acting so strange. Calum had muttered “yeah, me too,” in response, and Rob had felt like an absolute tool afterwards for not realising that Calum had bags underneath his eyes too. 

Later that night, it’s stupid o’clock again and he still can’t get to sleep because his stupid brain is reliving how goddamn  _good_  it had felt being that close to Calum again while simultaneously feeling like an awful friend for avoiding Calum and therefore not noticing that something was up the other defender. Rob is starting to think he’s losing his mind. 

He’s an absolute mess at training the next day; too sloppy in his tackles, too aware of Calum next to him, too tired and sluggish to do much except apologise to the coach, to Per, to everyone for not being on his A-game. When midnight ticks over, he’s desperate for sleep enough to think  _fuck it_ , and slowly creeps down the corridor towards Calum’s room (that used to be  _their_ room and oh the messed up irony of it all) and knock quietly. He’s about to leave because  _holy shit yeah it really is midnight and why the fuck would Cal still be awake?_ when the door opens and a wide-awake but tired looking Calum opens his door.

“Rob, what’s wrong?” Calum asks softly, worry creasing his forehead.

Rob gapes silently because yeah, maybe he didn’t think this through properly. Because he has no valid reason to actually be at Calum’s door at all-hail-Satan o’clock, he blurts out “I can’t sleep without you” without meaning to.

He’s mortified as soon as the words come out and instantly wants to  _die_ because it’s Calum now who’s gaping at him in shock. He’s about to spin on his heels and run off back to his room, but then Calum’s expression changes to relief and Rob is so fucking confused.

Calum grips his wrist, mumbles “yeah, me too,” then yanks him into the room and towards the bed.

It’s a double and much too small for two grown men to fit, but as soon as Rob crawls into the sheets and opens his arms for Calum to fit himself against him, Rob knows sleeping wasn’t going to be a problem for the rest of camp.

**Author's Note:**

> \--  
> I have a [tumblr account ](https://khalehla.tumblr.com) for my writings and random ficlets. If you have a question about this or any of my other stories, come say hi :)
> 
> Disclaimer: I write **fiction** about real people. As far as I know, none of these events ever happened; any resemblance to any actual events are purely coincidental.


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